


The Catalogue

by TinyBat



Series: Bullets and Biohazards: All Things Grant and Jemma [11]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:17:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyBat/pseuds/TinyBat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Ward/Simmons tumblr prompt fills</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. break-up/proposal- alessandralee

This is the opposite of what they wanted, it was always on the table but now it seemed the only solution to a very frightening problem. Grant had to go on a deep cover mission, and while this wouldn’t have been a problem before he joined the team, it was a problem now. His involvement with Jemma had been filed and it was proving to be the only black mark on his perfect record and in order for this mission to work, it had to end.

Grant Ward had to defect from SHIELD, and he had to do it as violently, publicly, and with as much fanfare as he could muster, the idea as explained at the Hub was that if he could be good enough to fool Agent Hand, then he could be back on the bus in three months time without a problem. Naturally, it was above Jemma’s clearance level so Grant couldn’t explain it to her, even when he’d fought for a solid two hours with Coulson, advocating to put her in the loop.

Jemma was the best part of Grant’s new life and when he allowed himself to consider his future, she was in it. His quarters were packed, the plane had landed just outside Dublin for the evening, and the younger agents knew something was off. Grant promised himself that when he got back, Jemma would know everything, and that he’d spend years making sure he fixed what he was about to do with her. Barely able to keep himself steady, Grant knocked on her door, leaving his bag just outside.

"Jemma, it’s me. I know it’s late, but we need to talk."

\------------

It had been 2 months, 3 weeks, 4 days, and 7 hours since Grant had left, not that anybody would willingly admit to keeping track. Not only had he left, but he'd gone completely dark. The only news the younger agents got was by way of Fitz, who had gotten more pragmatic since Agent Ward had left. Fitz, by Skye's instructions, had gotten a lock on Grant's location, but how they'd found it was shocking. Agents left on missions all the time, but Grant hadn't just left. Grant was gone, he wasn't coming back. After he left them, he had taken out the whole intelligence division of the Dublin satellite office, and on orders from The Hub, he was a marked man. Jemma had needed two days to pull herself together, which had been a shorter recovery time than anyone had expected, but Fitz and Skye had taken to treating her like a very fragile and valuable piece of porcelain and she was beginning to resent it. She knew Coulson and May weren't aware that the three of them knew about the nature of Grant's defection, but she had to wonder when they'd inform them officially. 

Watching him walk out hadn't hurt, not as much as she thought it would when they'd first gotten together. The risks that came with the job meant that she'd gotten used to watching Grant walk out, so him telling her they were through wasn't a serious shock. It had been more trying than any other break up she'd been through but the extraordinary circumstances of their situation were probably to blame. What had hurt was that after the initial shock wore off and she had managed to sleep, he wasn't at the breakfast table when she woke up, then Coulson had told her personally that Agent Ward would not be coming back and that the team would be wheels up in an hour, bound for Rome. He couldn't be properly gone, he would never just leave and not say anything, prickly as he might be, Grant would never leave and not tell her. The nasty little voice that had taken up residence in her head since the start of their relationship whispered that he had left her, and then he had left the team, he had no personal connections and no need for them. She had never really mattered, she was never important, and she no longer had a reason to be hopeful that he'd change his mind.

Grant was gone, he would be dead soon if he wasn't already, SHIELD would make sure of that. The explosion in Dublin had been an international headline, and Jemma had never been so sick in her life. There wasn't a reason for him to leave, and there would never be a reason for him to kill a building full of people, he carried too much guilt over his past mistakes to think of risking or harming an innocent life. The voice in her head came back, saying that nobody employed by SHIELD was innocent, and certainly not those in intelligence, but it didn't help. Throwing herself into her work, Jemma tried to bury the part of her that hoped he would be back, that maybe it was a joke, or maybe a mission he couldn't tell her about, but no, even on his worst day Grant would never kill someone if he didn't have to. Best that she continued waking up, getting through her day, and ignoring the stares she was getting from Fitz and Skye, if she ignored them, she could ignore how raw she felt inside and then maybe it would go away because this was no way to live. 

\------------

Coulson wouldn't ever personally qualify himself as a good man, he'd seen and done too much to ever be a truly good man. He was merely a man who was good at his job, and it wasn't a nice job to have. Grant's deployment had gone off beautifully, and the embedded press at the Hub had circulated the story about Dublin beautifully, with agents on hand to ensure it was as realistic as possible. Watching his team slowly try to pull themselves back together was making him sick, and it was overwhelming any pride he felt in Grant's thoroughness and commitment to his mission. Skye had stopped with her constant stream of chipper questions, walking around like a child with a deflated balloon, Fitz was barely keeping a lid on a whole volcano full of anger, not just at Grant but at the whole of the situation and what it was doing to Jemma, and Jemma was taking it the hardest of all, carrying on like there hadn't been a change, and like there wasn't a hole to be filled or even acknowledged as empty. Coulson and May had been briefed in full along with Grant and they'd been given the same timeline, he would be home soon and they were bound for The Hub, ready to debrief him and ensure that he was re-acclimatized safely. 

Coulson had a word with Grant before he went to Jemma, and for Coulson the most painful part was seeing just how much the idea of leaving her was hurting the younger man. He wasn't just leaving, for all intents and purposes, he'd be dead and if everything was done right, even Skye and Fitz wouldn't be able to find out just what he'd been assigned. Sitting at his desk, he opened a drawer and took out a small black box, opening it and staring at the emptiness of it, his chest aching. He'd shown Grant the box, a personal keepsake of his, before his departure' and the understanding that passed between them had been non-verbal but crystal clear. Once Grant was back, and the team had re-adjusted, Coulson dearly hoped the contents of the box would get some use. He recalled the conversation they had during the second Peterson mission, about love and it's place in their line of work, and how maybe if Coulson's cellist had belonged to the agency that they could work. It wouldn't work for Coulson, but watching the other agent square his shoulders and breathe, attempting to quell his emotions, as he walked out of Coulson's office had Coulson praying that once this was all over, that it would work for Grant. The contents of the box had gone with Grant when he left, as a reminder of his motivation to come back safely, and of just what he could have in front of him should his mission be successful. Sentiment wasn't doing him any good, but Grant would need a reason to stay strong and Coulson had given it to him.

\------------

Grant hated the Hub, it was all white tile and bureaucracy, vacant of humanity in any form, the room he'd been stashed in was soulless and depressing even if it was thankfully temporary. He'd done his job, and Agent Hand had been pleased, she'd been overseeing his progress personally and helped facilitate the extraction personally. Trying his best to ignore the pit in his stomach as he cleaned himself up, his thoughts wandered back to the gift Coulson had given him before he left. It had burned a hole in his pocket every second since then, and he feared that the thing might just catch fire soon. He'd be seeing everyone in an hour or so, and for the first time Grant wanted to run and he never wanted to look back. Leaving the team had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do, even if he knew he'd be back, and seeing Jemma's face as he broke her heart had left him sick inside. Seeing her again would be far more difficult than every single mission he had under his belt. When the call came for Grant to go in for his full debriefing, he took what little he had brought with him and he left, wondering just how long it would take before he'd be forgiven.

Coulson had been the first to spot him, nodding in acknowledgment, May second, giving him the most severe glare he'd ever experienced, and Skye who'd been intently watching May saw him third, all the blood drained from her face, anger radiating off of her even from across the room. Fitz saw him and for a moment, Grant was more afraid of him than he'd been of every armed thug he'd ever come across, the young engineer looked murderous and it was only barely masking his disbelief. Jemma was last, and she was the picture of professionalism, all poise and grace. Grant wondered if she'd come to hate him in his absence and realized just how much easier it would be if she did. He'd be grateful for her hatred because it would mean that he couldn't touch her again, she wouldn't let him. Any power Grant thought he had over Jemma's heart was gone, showing no sign of ever appearing. The small object in Grant's pocket was weighing him down, now more than ever with Jemma in the room. 

The room they'd been given was reasonably private, and Grant was positive it was soundproof, he wondered if that had been at Coulson's insistence, knowing his team and knowing Fitz' tendency toward the obscene when enraged. Skye was the first to come over, and the punch she landed across Grant's jaw stunned him, rattling his teeth and causing him to stumble sideways into one of the chairs placed about the room. The yelling that immediately followed was far and away the most pleasant sound he'd heard in almost three months. Fit gently placed his hands on Skye's shoulders, shifting her aside to stand in front of Grant. His words were harsh, and they fell on Grant like landing blows. Fitz was unfailingly honest, and his discretion had been sorely tested. Grant could tell that Fitz was dying to hit him but Fitz was more adept at emotional manipulation than at physical combat. May and Coulson were standing off to the side, watching the younger agents have their say, patiently waiting for Jemma's reaction. 

When Jemma's time came, she met Grant's gaze and simply congratulated him on the completion of his mission in such a thorough manner. Her tone was even, her posture straight, and every fiber of her being entirely in Agent mode. Grant had expected nothing less but the wave of pain that washed over him faced with her indifference nearly bore him to the ground.

The six of them, once again six, all left with Grant trailing behind the others, his hand in his pocket with the gift laying cool and smooth against his fingers. Skye's savage tirade had exhausted her and she'd gone to her room for the evening, Grant knew he'd have to work with her to win her over again but that it'd be the least difficult of all of them. He'd never had a sister, but Skye was the closest he had and her level of understanding when it came to unpleasant necessities might ease the transition. Fitz had kept a watchful eye on Jemma, guiding her to her room before informing Grant that if he even considered going to her door, that Fitz would make sure he wouldn't make it through the evening. Fitz had grown in Grant's absence and the young man's strength of character was more present now than ever, he wasn't tentative in his words, he was direct and fearless. He couldn't help but be proud, but he fervently hoped that it wasn't solely his abrupt departure that had brought it about.

Despite the seriousness of Fitz' warning, and the certainty of tone, Grant found himself outside Jemma's room and before he could knock, the door opened. She was sitting on her bed, still in her day clothes, looking just as poised as she had earlier. "Well, come in. Stand there any longer and one of the dwarves will shoot you. Fitz re-calibrated them before the de-briefing. If you've anything to say for yourself, I suggest you do it quickly. I'm tired and I have work that needs doing so I can't be up late." Grant stepped inside, and the door shut with a hiss, he took his hand out of his pocket, the object he'd carried with him since he was last in this room in his hand.

"I'm going to spare you the stupidity of everything I had planned on saying, and i'll say this instead, then you can sleep. Jemma, I want you to marry me. I want you to marry me because I realized that I don't ever want to have to lie to you again, and I never want to spend another day or night without you. If you say no, that's fine. I've earned it, and i'll move on, we can even pretend that we were never together if it's what you want. But please, before you kick me out and have me shot, know that this was the last deep cover mission i'll ever had to run. I might not have a lot of pull, but I made sure that once I came back to you, that I'd never have to leave again. Hurting you was unfortunately all a part of what was necessary and I never want to see you hurt by anyone again, least of all by me. I love you and because I love you I won't beg, i'll do what you need." Grant said, opening his palm, and showing her the ring Coulson had intended to give his cellist, instead giving it to Grant to make use of. Jemma's face was unreadable, but she hadn't thrown him out just yet and that was promising. 

"If you ever presume to leave me again Grant Ward I will find you, kill you, and make sure there is nothing left of your body. If you want me to say yes, you're going to need to work for it. I love you, but i'm going to need time. you're sensible enough to know that. You can stay here tonight if you like, and honestly i'd like it if you would, but you won't get your answer. I understood when we got together that this was always a possibility but for all I knew you were dead and every day I had to wonder if you were gone and buried somewhere on SHIELD's orders. Right now I genuinely wish you were because it would hurt less. Put the ring away, take off your shoes, and turn off the light. I'm tired, i've missed you, and we'll talk in the morning." Jemma said, her eyes wet but her expression still stoic. Grant did as he was told, slipping his shoes off and sitting down next to her, turning off the lamp on her bedside table, letting the ring sit on the table in the dark. 

Jemma stretched out, too exhausted to change, and Grant sat leaning against the wall, happier now than he'd been for weeks. He never expected a happy reunion, but this was so much better than he'd hoped. He was home, and Jemma was letting him stay, her hand taking one of his own, resting in his lap. He'd sit up all night, just allowing himself to be with her again and that was fine. He promised himself he'd work every day to make sure they could be happy together and now he'd be able to start.


	2. 3 Sentence AUs - various

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are from a few people but you can credit the majority to AlessandraLee for being a compassionate soul and helping me stave off boredom by throwing me bones when I ask

Jemma the Lounge Singer and Grant the Bartender

If Grant didn’t have a job to do he’d be almost as happy watching the new guy dropping glasses as he would be in the audience watching her. The bar he worked in, The Black Eagle, had a stage show on fridays and the women were always beautiful but their newest recruit, an English lounge singer with an voice that could bring a weak man to his knees and dark red lips was something special. Her name was Jemma and that was all Grant had been allowed to know until she came up to him and ordered a French 75, on her break; she then told him the second thing he ever learned about her, she liked men who were good with their hands.

 

Self Defense Class

It was an embarrassing cliche but Grant had a terrible habit of being attracted to women who could bring him to his knees. His co-instructor could do just that despite her having a more formal education, Jemma had a unique knowledge of the martial arts from a very peculiar boarding school experience. She was the perfect example for the girls in the adolescent and young women’s class even if on occasion it took Grant about 30 seconds to realize that she shouldn’t still be pinning him to the mats, usually it was the giggling audience of twenty something’s that clued him in.

 

Medieval Fantasy

The fae hadn’t been a problem, the Lady was a noble and a true diplomat and the negotiation for crossing the territory had been simple; Grant, a knight under Duke Phillip had been given his niece, the Lady Jemma to escort for a tournament and so far it had gone well. The dragon however had proven to be an issue, she had a mind to take the damn thing with them and much to his surprise it had followed her like a lamb after she had blown something purple up it’s nose. The horses were terrified, they were a day late, and the dragon was near impossible to get rid of; worst of all if he was honest, he never wanted to let Jemma farther than a few steps away from him ever again but Grant suspected that this had been the duke’s intention all along.

 

Disneyland

Sometimes being on SHIELD’s payroll wasn’t so bad, they were the ones paying for this after all. Jemma, who’d developed a nasty case of cabin fever during their layover had insisted that someone go to Disneyland with her; Grant, who was lately never one to turn down time with her had “acquired” a vehicle and off they went. They made sure Coulson got a bag of cotton candy, a vintage Mickey Mouse pin, a set of ears, and a disposable camera full of photos of their adventure; they’d earned it and Coulson was a fan of letting his agents cut loose, Grant and Jemma in particular so all was well and they both fell onto the couch back on the bus at 2 in the morning, utterly exhausted and grinning ear to ear.

 

Time Travel

He’d done a lot of things in the name of spending time with Jemma recently, but this deserved a medal. She had taken him to a science conference on one of their days off in New York and she was currently chatting excitedly with Doctor Jane Foster, another of SHIELD’s employees about the possibility of time travel in light of Thor’s most recent visit. Grant had hoped to go to a museum but then Jane turned to him and immediately began to explain both sides of the discussion in his version of English, Jemma quietly promised that they’d go to the Museum of Natural History after hours tonight like he’d wanted since he was being such a champion about sticking it out.

 

Road Trip

It took a special kind of temperament to deal with Grant when he drove, so Jemma has been the one to go with him on the transport mission. Skye had called him a “masshole” before they left, and Grant had rolled his eyes at her, thanking her for her input. The normally stoic Grant Ward had terrible road rage, and it was simultaneously the funniest and most arousing thing Jemma had discovered about him.

 

A Bar 

This was the best idea they’d had since the mutual decision that s’mores on brioche was the official movie night snack; alcohol was their initial ice breaker and it remained one of their favorite ways to bond. Picking one bar they had to go to in every city they stayed in over night was just theirs and nobody questioned it. It allowed a semblance of freedom from work and Grant always enjoyed watching Jemma drink the men who tried to pick her up under the table; they didn’t call their outings dates just like they didn’t say how they felt because they just knew and that was fine.

 

Pacific Rim 

Her experience was great in theory though the application was where it got dicey, but once Jemma had the suit on, and had stepped into the conn pod she began to get nervous. She’d completed the training and her record was passable, but Grant was the consummate ranger and she really was better suited to the lab. Her fears eased as the drift began, and she knew that the feeling she could only mark as “right” was one she was sharing.


	3. Facade (ferggirl)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most women will use a false name when they go out, Jemma likes to be a bit more in depth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this is the picture on Chloe Bennet's instagram of she and Elizabeth wearing each other's costumes from one of the aired episodes Also, the tags NotABaboonBrandishingAStick used when she reblogged the picture. I liked the tags so much I decided I needed to write something.
> 
> The Tags  
> #can we talk about that leather jacket though?  
> #can we talk about how Ward cataches her on her day off and from the back he thinks she's Skye  
> #it's stupid  
> #he knows better  
> #but he's never SEEN her in a leather jacket and then she turns around and OOF  
> #it's like he's forgotten how to breathe for a minute

On the team's all too rare overnights on the ground, it was tradition that the girls went out for the evening, usually to a bar, to dinner or sometimes just to a movie. Fitz never asked to come, if only because he knew he'd be the one carrying their shoes back when they were too drunk to keep them on and that wasn't any fun; and Grant had the distinct impression that they went out to laugh at him in private so he let them go without any hesitation but with a small pit in his stomach. A night out in Paris was a tremendous opportunity for fun of all kinds so Grant had decided he'd hide in the gym until they left, not wanting to listen to Skye's excited giggling or Jemma telling Skye which phrases she should use to best catch someone's attention. 

At 9, he figured it was safe, they had to be gone by now, or at least on their way out so he made his way back up to the lounge, hoping to find Fitz and get a hand of poker started when he almost ran straight into Skye, her "going out" jacket already around her shoulders. Something about her was different, she was carrying herself strangely, and after hearing her complain many times about the impracticality of heels, he knew that it was probably the 4 inch pair of black stilettos she was sporting instead of her usual sneakers or boots. Her hair was different too, a soft caramel color falling down her shoulders in waves, but they had gone exploring earlier, maybe she'd headed to a salon for a change. It was only when the girl turned around to glare at him did Grant discover he was wrong. 

"Oh, hello Grant. We were just heading out for a bit. If you get changed you could come with us if you like. Skye's just warming up the car." Jemma said, staring up at him with kohl rimmed eyes and a dangerously pink and glossy smile. She was wearing a grey v neck t-shirt, Skye's jacket, black pants tight enough to give Grant a small heart attack, and the shoes that on her, looked absolutely stunning. On any other day Grant would have said that Jemma was beautiful not just because it was obvious, but because something about her just made it unquestionable; this version however dropped a lead weight on Grant's chest and short circuited the part of his brain he relied on for common sense and not kissing her whenever she smiled or rolled her eyes at something she found ridiculous. Fitz entered, sparing Grant any attempt at forcing words out. 

"I see Alice is making an appearance then. Grant, this is Alice. Alice likes to break hearts, get drunk, and steal money from innocent young men." Fitz grinned, making a motion for Jemma to spin around, nodding his approval he handed her a small compact, which she examined and put in her purse. "I don't steal from them, if they're terrible at billiards that's entirely their fault, not mine. Yes, Alice is having a night out to stretch her legs, and she will come back safely." Jemma looked thrilled, combing her fingers through her hair and adjusting the sleeves of the jacket.

Grant, still struggling to connect his brain to his mouth continued staring at this mysterious new version of Jemma and croaked "Huh?" Jemma turned to look at him, and Grant shifted nervously, he wasn't used to any of this and Jemma wasn't just looking, she was mentally undressing him. "Alice is how Fitz and I had our fun back at Sci Ops. You'd be surprised by how stupid men can be when they're distracted. Fitz taught me to play pool using physics and I decided to use it for the common good, the common good being paying for an endless supply of really terrible movies and cookbooks." 

Jemma reached up and her fingers delicately brushed Grant's shoulder, the sharp intake of breath at the touch didn't go unnoticed either, her eyes sparkled and Fitz was stifling his laughter with his shirt sleeve. "Dust. The car should be ready, Coulson is driving, he's giving us a list of places to check out on the way. Have a good night, boys." Jemma waved at Fitz, winked at Grant, and strode out, the gentle sway of her hips keeping Grant rooted to the spot. After she had gone, Fitz walked over to his dumbstruck friend, and clapped him on the shoulder. "She has that effect on people. We own the Lord of the Rings extended edition box set thanks to that look she just gave you. She's promised to only ever use her powers for good though."

"Good? She, I- Fitz, they're going out by themselves!" The confused mixture of shock and arousal was wearing off and horror was slowly seeping into Grant's veins in their place. Fitz shrugged, looking completely unbothered by this. "I know, that's why I bugged the car, and gave her the taser. Go shower, i'll text Skye when you're done and we can go meet them. Keep your hands to yourself, yeah? At least until she's hit her quota for the evening."

Grant nodded, for once being very glad of Fitz' paranoia. "Yeah, okay, hey wait! I wasn't going to touch-" Fitz shot the older man a disbelieving look, and rolled his eyes. "You will. Why do you think she let you see her leave? You can't be as dumb as all that, you two have been giving the rest of us headaches with your dancing around the issue. Consider this her first move. My advice would be to go get cleaned up, grab your jacket, and fortify yourself. Alice is Jemma with all the stops out but she's still Jemma. The frat regs don't apply to us so don't worry, now I have to go find a bag for the money, and the shoes. That purse was nowhere near big enough." With that, Fitz scuttled off to the lab and Grant stood in the lounge ,profoundly confused by the past few minutes.

Upon collecting his thoughts, he rushed off to the bathroom, mentally throwing together an acceptable outfit and a drink order as the spray of cold water hit him. Tonight would prove to be interesting, and even if Jemma's terrifyingly sexy alter ego took up most of his thoughts, she was still Jemma and Jemma had occupied the majority of Grant's thoughts in his free time. Yes, alcohol would be needed, and it would be needed in bulk. Maybe he'd try his hand at pool too, providing he could keep his head straight, alcohol wasn't cheap and getting on Jemma's level would be an affair to remember.


	4. Carelessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can write a fic with Simmons mad over Ward ripping out his stitches? I need this like air. I was surprised she wasn't as mad, but just gave him "I'm done with this shit"

If the highlight of her team returning from missions was them getting back on to the bus, then the low point was Grant looking paler than usual when he got out of the car. It happened every time, without fail, and each time it happened it was always worse than the last. Jemma swore up and down that he was doing it on purpose, because he seemed to get more than a little bit of fun riling her up. Coulson was also ignoring her request that they temporarily station a trauma surgeon on board for post mission clean ups. This wasn’t her job but once again, Grant Ward was lying on one of her tables, and he was bleeding onto her lab coat.

"This has to stop. It’s not my job to play nursemaid, Ward and you aren’t doing yourself any favors by ruining my admittedly fine handiwork." Jemma said, rolling her eyes as the man tried to grin at her. He was being an absolute child. Charming her with a smile wasn’t going to make her any easier on him, not this time. He’d bruised three ribs on their last little outing and he’d acquired a hideous knife wound along his left side. It had been more stitching than she’d ever performed on a live patient and her concentration had been taking consistent blows because even when he was covered in his own blood, Grant was still close to physically perfect. Their latest skirmish had torn open the sutures and Skye had been tasked with disinfecting the back seat, since she’d mouthed off in training before they’d left.

"So, no lollipop then? I was really hoping there’d be a lollipop for my trouble." He tried to laugh but lying flat on a table, with a needle continually piercing his side made it difficult. "No, but if you promise not to tear my stitches again, there’ll be a sandwich in it for you." Jemma growled, swatting him on the thigh, getting blood on his pants in the process. "Really, i’ve about had it with you bollocking up my work with your super agent nonsense. One of these days I might not be able to fix you." 

This did make Grant laugh, and he regretted it, the tiny biochemist was glaring down at him with an unaccustomed hostility. “Fine, i’ll just let them knock me unconscious and drag me away instead. I couldn’t help it, it was kind of life or death Simmons.” He knew that Jemma wasn’t completely accustomed to playing doctor but she did it well enough for Coulson to not see the need for an actual physician on board, he’d heard the arguments they’d had on the subject.

"See that you do. I’ve half a mind to let you lay here bleeding until you really think about what you’ve done. I know it isn’t easy out there but you’re pushing yourself too far, and you’re only human." She said this with less anger now, and her focus on stitching him back together increased. Grant felt guilty now, she was doing what she could to hold him together but she was right, he needed to slow down. "Fine, if you can promise i’ll get that sandwich, I’ll make sure I come back in one piece. Just for you, Simmons." He didn’t like making anything like promises, but it wasn’t the first time he’d made an admission like this to her. Something about Simmons brought that out in him and for the most part, it gave him a private incentive to always come back. She might not be able to keep him together, but he’d do what he could for her.

Taking a fresh pair of the blue gloves the lab had in bulk, and pulling them on, Jemma motioned for Grant to slowly sit up. “Easy now, no use making me do it a third time.” She placed one hand on his lower back and the other on his shoulder, giving what support she could. “Good job, doc. You’ve put the scarecrow back together again.” Jemma laughed, her eyes sparkling, and took a gauze square and applying it over his wound, taping the edges down. “Well, an argument could be made for you not having a brain, couldn’t it? I remain the undisputed Scrabble champion.” 

Grant rolled his eyes, her smug expression igniting his competitive side. “Fine, forget the sandwich. Once we’re done here, you and I will play. I win, and you stop with your oh so superior I’m Jemma Simmons and I’m English and Therefore Smarter Than American Grant Ward business. You win again, and i’ll clean the whole of your side of the lab, and i’ll help you with dinner next time you’re up. That’s on top of doing my best to come back safely. Just because I know it will bother you.”

Jemma, who’d been cleaning an alarming amount of drying and dried blood off of the area surrounding her fresh patch up, looked up, her enthusiasm piqued. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Grant nodded, he didn’t make a habit of lying to her. “I am. Hey, if that shirt has had it, can we throw it in the incinerator before we leave?” Grant indicated the remains of the shirt he’d been wearing before Jemma had cut it off of him and she shook her head. “Nope. I’m keeping it. Consider it a reminder of your promise. Maybe i’ll find a jar to suspend it in, or treat it with something so the blood comes out.” She was screwing with him about the jars, he’d seen one on her night table once when she was coming out of her bunk. He had asked just how many creepy things she had in jar and she didn’t answer. 

"And you are all set. Remember, no more of this. I don’t mind fixing you up, but I’d like to keep you in good shape too. This one is going to scar." Grant slid off the table and Jemma threw her lab coat in the biohazard pile. They set up off the stairs, and Grant gently shoved her when they got to the doorway, smiling like a kid at Christmas. The series of curses Jemma aimed at him, as she pushed him back into the wall and peeled back the gauze to see if there’d been any damage were impressive. "You’re horrible, you’re absolutely horrible. I swear, i’d have better luck tying you to something rather than letting you knock about on your own. How did you ever get along without me?" 

"I will own up to that, and I did, just not well." Grant looked down at her, she was still intently examining her work, and he was grateful that it still hurt, it made for a good distraction. Throwing that guy over the truck had been the right call, and it was only after the gun fire had stopped that Grant had realized what he’d done. He was used to bleeding, and by now he was used to the itching, and stinging that accompanied him messing with Simmons’ hard work. What messed with him was the care and concern she showed whenever he limped in, a new or healing wound on display for her ministrations. He could deal with the yelling, it was nice to be cared for, and the lack of people like Jemma Simmons in his life became more apparent when he spent time with her. She was something special, and even as she berated him for endangering himself, and ruining her lab coats, it was worth it.


	5. Tortoise Shell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jemma keeps the glasses she had for undercover on the train, and Ward calls her out on it.

A knock stirred Jemma from her almost comatose state, she had been reading a book and but she hadn’t gotten very far. To her considerable surprise, Ward was standing there looking at her, he had a way of appearing to her when she was at either at her most relaxed or as panicked as possible, it was a terrible habit of his.

"Now how long did you think you’d get to keep those before anyone would notice?" he asked, leaning against her doorframe with a grin that sent a stray pillow sailing over at his chest. Ward had no business being near her room, even if they were right next to each other. Leaving the door open might not have been the best idea, now that Jemma got to thinking about it.

“I liked them, and everybody keeps things from missions sometimes.” Jemma said, waving him inside and re-adjusting her recently acquired eyewear on her nose. He sat down in the chair she had managed to squeeze into the little room, and he was still grinning. He was absolutely intolerable, frequently infuriating, and his way of smiling at her whenever she was in the room was becoming problematic. Jemma still didn’t know if she hated him a little bit or if she’d just seen him on the way back from the bathroom once too often, wearing only a towel.

"I don’t." Grant said, stretching his long legs out, placing his feet on the bed next to her. Jemma sighed, and pushed them off, not expecting it to do much good because he would just put them right back up again, which he did. "And what exactly do you call the Night Night Gun and all of your recently acquired scars?" she asked, catching his gaze in hers and arching a brow. He couldn’t call the Night Night Gun anything but his, it had practically been engineered for his usage. 

"Necessary equipment, and a part of the job. Look, I didn’t come in to give you a hard time. I wanted to tell you that they looked nice on you, which they do. I also didn’t think you needed glasses so I was a little curious." He took his feet off of her bed and hugged the pillow she’d thrown at him closer to his chest, rubbing his thumb along the corner of the sham. Curious? Ward didn’t do curious, he simply knew things, or he found them out early in case they proved to be useful later on. He was meticulous, and curiosity wasn’t in his wheelhouse most of the time, this was interesting.

"Well, thank you. I’m glad someone thinks so. Fitz told me I looked like an old hag in them, he wasn’t serious but he wasn’t complimentary either. I think he’s still a little annoyed about the Academy mission. I don’t really need them, but I find they help when i’m tired and that happens a lot here so I didn’t see a reason not to keep them." Jemma said, leaning back against the wall, and picking up the book she’d been reading to hand over to Ward. Normally when they spent any time together it was in the lab, usually with one of them bleeding, so this was a pleasant change. The uneasiness at the intimacy of the situation was slowly creeping into her chest, but they were colleagues and friends, this was something friends did. 

"A Brief History of Time. So, light reading for you then. Tell Fitz to shove it, he’s got no business telling anyone what they shouldn’t be wearing." Ward said, looking slightly annoyed. He opened the book, and thumbed through it, stopping occasionally to skim over something that caught his eye. Jemma giggled, curious Ward and studious Ward were two new versions of the man, and she found that she quite liked both of them. "Fitz wanted me look over a passage because he wanted to use it in a speech he’s giving to the Tech graduates over Skype next week. I didn’t seem any harm in it but it’s not the most entertaining thing in the world." 

Ward set the book on the dresser next to him, standing up and offering his hand to Jemma. “Then why don’t we go do something fun. I don’t think we’ve quite settled Ops vs Sci-Tech and that’s not sitting right with me.” Jemma took his hand and he helped her off the bed, but when she moved to take the glasses off, he stopped her. “No, keep them on. Besides, it’ll really annoy Fitz and he has it coming for that hag crack. Let’s go.” 

Ward’s hand was considerably larger than hers, rough from combat and handling equipment, but it was warm and not unpleasant to hold. He didn’t seem to notice that her hand was still in his, or if he did, he knew she wasn’t going to pull away. The gentle squeeze he gave her as they left her room made something in her chest constrict and a small thrill shot through her. He could be a friend of a different sort, and to Jemma that seemed fitting because their rapport was one that was different from the one they had with the others. “Ward, you have glasses too don’t you?” 

The resulting laughter bounced off the walls and it pushed her restlessness away. “I do, but I don’t think you want me to use those. Not just yet.” he said as they made their way to the lounge. “Well I did ask, and i’ll even give you time to get them out of the lab while I decide on something you might be able to beat me at.” Jemma sat down on one end of the couch as Ward looked around for something to do. “No, see tonight’s the night I beat you. I doubt we’ll be going to the Ops campus any time soon so I don’t get to show you how we relaxed. I’ll just have to find something here.”

He dashed off to the lab, after Jemma made shoo-ing motions with her hands and he returned wearing the x-ray spectacles from the Amador mission. Even on a bad day Agent Ward was one of the most attractive men Jemma had ever met, but on a good day and with the glasses he looked different. There was a lightness in his eyes, and an ease in his demeanor now that made him almost a little unfair. The glasses were annoyingly perfect on him, highlighting the cheekbones Jemma was certain the universe had given him only to torture her.

"We’ll play poker, and if you fall too far behind then you can turn those on. I’m a terrible liar so you shouldn’t need them at all." She pulled a deck of cards from a drawer in the coffee table, and pointed at the box of chips on the shelf above the bar. Ward pulled them down and moved a chair so he was sitting across the table from her. "How generous of you. What makes you think I won’t use them anyway?" 

"I don’t, but since it appears to be just us in here why don’t you just pop your shirt off and we’ll call it even just in case. I need to see how your shoulder is healing up anyway." Jemma dealt them both hands and found that this was easy, Ward could be so many different things at once but when he was with her he was just happy. She couldn’t be intimidated by that, and after seeing him flirt with that girl at the academy to get information, she felt that she had a little work to do if she wanted things back on even terms.

"Fair enough. 2 rounds, no handicaps. If we tie it, I turn the glasses on, take off my shirt, and we play one more. You win both, you get the glasses and you can see if i’m healing up to your satisfaction." 

"And If I lose?" she asked, taking a moment to look at the t-shirt he was wearing. It was black, and she was pretty sure she had one like it in her pajama drawer, not that she’d tell him. The laundry room was fair game.

"We’ll just have to see now won’t we? I’m sure I can think of something."


	6. Kitchen Karma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cooking

The size of the refrigerator was a problem, it had been brought up numerous times to Coulson. In lieu of a fish tank, Jemma found it fair to request a larger refrigerator instead. Cooking was one of her multiple coping mechanisms, and with Melinda and Grant always ready to be deployed, she was always anxious. A recent voyage into the recesses of Afghanistan had proved to be simpler than anticipated so both Grant and May had come back unharmed. That hadn’t stopped several dozen snickerdoodles from being baked in the meantime though. Melinda had come back almost scot free, a scratch marring her otherwise flawless skin. Grant had limped back onto the bus with a knife wound in his abdomen, and doing his best to pass it off as a scratch. His audacity had floored Jemma, who had been assigned the role of physician until SHIELD saw fit to give them one of their own.

As punishment for his foolishness, and as a private indulgence of Jemma’s own feelings, Grant was on hand in the kitchen assisting in cooking dinner. Grant, by virtue of being an older sibling, was actually quite useful in the galley. Jemma had been quite offended when he had subtly moved her away from the stove to correct her technique. The refrigerator was full of canned tomatoes, fresh mozzarella from their trip to Rome, and Basil, since they weren’t allowed to keep edible plants in the lab. 

"Move over, i’ve got it. Really, go sit down." Grant said, eyeing Jemma with an amused expression. "Not a chance. I don’t know how badly you’ll muck it all up and if i’ll be able to fix it!. " That had annoyed Jemma enough to stand at Grant’s elbow, with him doing his best to move her back toward the counter, grinning like a child. "If you don’t stop i’m going to pick you up and move you. I’m completely capable of cooking a full meal all on my own even if you don’t think so." Jemma harrumphed, making a show of pouting at Grant as he picked her up and situated her on the counter next to the stove. He looked far too pleased with himself, so it wasn’t entirely Jemma’s fault when a mostly full bottle of red wine had spilled all over his t-shirt. She’d swear up and down that karma had everything to do with ruining Grant’s thinnest t-shirt, that is, if she was the sort to put any stock at all in karma. 

Watching a half dressed Grant Ward cook a full meal, complete with an absolutely sinful tomato sauce was more than worth the extra effort. If Jemma kept track of her achievements since she joined Coulson’s band of misfits, this truly was one she could be proud of.


	7. Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: New Year

Never one to shirk tradition in any form, there Jemma was, clad in a party hat, with a glass of champagne in hand. everyone else was dressed much the same, each looking more dour and troubled than the last, with Fitz looking the most displeased of all. As the clock ran down, she watched Grant chug his beer, eager to finish it before the clock stopped, in a strange display of collegiate masculinity. He’d been full of strangeness lately, not that Jemma made a point of noticing. She could feel his eyes on her when she entered a room, and could feel his gaze upon her when she stayed.

Her awareness of Grant Ward wasn’t something she felt she could share with anyone, she didn’t understand it but he understood her. He knew exactly how to quell her fears, make her smile, and how to bring her down when she was anxious. It was patently obvious to anyone with functioning eyes that he was spectacularly attractive, but that wasn’t what Jemma liked about him. He made an effort to learn, he put in the time to figure little things out, and he tolerated Fitz which was a feat in and of itself. The fact that he was always inexplicably available and present when Jemma was distressed was another factor that she hadn’t been able to process, no matter how much time she’d been given. 

He was grinning as Fitz cracked a joke, and Skye attempted to fix her crooked hat. The clock was running down, and his eyes were on her whenever he had a free moment. If Jemma was going to start the new year, she’d be bold about it. 

The clock ran down to the final seconds and Jemma did her best to summon her courage, but before she could make her move, Grant had gathered her in his arms and kissed her. It wasn’t at all what she expected, it was gentle, and very sweet. Polite as kisses went, considering how much alcohol they’d both consumed. There was no regret in him, and none in her so she wrapped her arms around him and embraced him tightly, her lips meeting his eagerly to ring in the new year correctly. This year, she’d conquer her fears, work harder, and she’d finally allow herself to make room in her heart for someone special. That someone was smiling, whispering “Happy New Year.” into her lips and it was more than she could have wished for. It would be a good year.


	8. Re-Evaluation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hate

After he’d picked up the staff, any provocation would bring forth a powerful rage in Grant, and he’d expend all of his energy fighting to bury it again. All of the memories he’d worked so hard to bury would come flooding back and weigh him down. He didn’t have panic attacks, they simply weren’t something he had time to deal with but all of the repression was taking it’s toll and he was afraid. How could Grant do his job when threats would give rise to such hideous rage? The thought of hurting any of the people he’d grown to care for was terrifying and it left him dizzy, short of breath, and paralyzed by thoughts of his friends shrinking away from him, bleeding and looking at him as though he was a monster. 

During his initial examination, he and Simmons had ruled out panic attacks, but now he felt as though it was worth re-examining. He went down to the lab when he knew Fitz was gone for the night and knocked. Simmons, clad in her pajamas and slippers with rabbits on them, blushed but let him in. Holding back a remark on the subject of how lovely she looked in her Captain America t-shirt and grey sweatpants, Grant ambled in, feeling only slightly ashamed. The biochemist had become his preferred company and that wasn’t hard to understand, everything Grant wasn’t, Jemma was.

She was enthusiastic, happy, and almost entirely untouched by the rigors of the job. After her fall, it was hard to believe that she’d still be the same person, but she’d held up beautifully for the most part. If there was ever a moment where she felt like she was slipping, Grant had promised himself, and her that he’d be there to catch her. A life without her in it was more upsetting than the idea of losing anyone else but he never thought too deeply on it. Feelings in his line of work weren’t encouraged and Jemma Simmons had been the cause of much turmoil in Grant’s private moments.

"How can I help you, Agent Ward"" she asked, not looking directly at him. He was fully dressed, though it was admittedly in his pajamas as well. Jemma never struck him as indelicate but maybe the lack of a more professional setting was putting her off. "Considering that it’s past 11, I think you can call me Grant. How much do you know about panic attacks?" He sat down on one of the stools free of the general clutter and slid to face Jemma, who was looking at him with intense concern, her lips pursed, and her pale brow creased.

"I was worried about that. Are you sleeping?" she asked, searching his face for answer. Grant nodded, figuring it was best to be honest since he had interrupted her solo lab time. "Yeah, just not well. That staff got inside my head. I feel like I can break at the smallest things now. I don’t want to hurt any of you, but you’re always here. I don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to protect you." The admission had him casting his eyes to the floor, unable to meet her eyes, so full of concern and something else he couldn’t bring himself to name. 

"Sleep should be your priority then. And i’m glad you’re here. I just wish you’d told me earlier, I might have been able to help. " Jemma’s downcast expression stirred something in Grant and he focused his gaze on her. "You are helping, you let me in. You’re doing more than anyone else." He shifted uncomfortably, the admission far more honest than he’d intended. "I came to you, not to Skye, not to May, Coulson, or Fitz, you. I wanted it to be you that helped me through this. If nothing else, you seemed to be the most qualified." A falsehood to follow would be nothing to either of them, Grant’s feelings were now out for both of them to acknowledge. 

"Well then, Grant. I’ll be here whenever you need me. Anytime you feel like you can’t hold on anymore i’ll be here. It’s the least I can do." Jemma rested her small, fragile hand on his broad shoulder and squeezed gently. She meant every word and for that night, Grant knew he’d sleep well.


	9. Bodyswap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon Prompt- Bodyswap

The ache in Grant’s head when he woke up was nothing compared to the horrific burning sensation he felt in his side when he tried to roll over. Whatever he and Simmons had been hit with before the retrieval squad moved in had packed one hell of a punch. The site of impact burned, itched, and stung all at once and he knew that if he pulled up his shirt to look, there would probably be bruising and stitches under a layer of gauze.

The fog of unconsciousness slowly clearing away to bring light upon the realization that this wasn’t his room and this wasn’t the lab either. There were pictures on the bed stand of Simmons and two people who could only be her parents, one of she and Skye passed out on the couch in the lounge, and one of Fitz, covered in what appeared to be a thick blue paste. A small flash of annoyance over the realization that he apparently deserving of a spot on her nightstand made him want to reach over and turn them around. The overall wrongness of him being in Simmons’ room with no Simmons was causing panic to well up in his chest and bury everything else.

There was no reason for him to be here, so a still sore and very confused Grant rolled over and out of his co-worker’s bed, shuffling for the door. The sound of the door to what he knew to be his bunk opening, as it was next to hers, cause him to look over and up, then further up, and then scream when he found himself looking into his own rather badly cut face. The scream that came out of the mouth he was currently in possession of was high pitched and filled with alarm. The volley of violent curses coming out of who could only be Simmons in the specialist’s body had them both looking up at each other with twin expressions of wide eyed shock.

"This isn’t a hallucination. Is it? Because I hurt everywhere and want it to stop if it is." Grant said in the scientists distinctly feminine and accented voice once Simmons’ body’s muscle memory faded into neutral again. Grant’s body violently shook his head, with Simmons looking very off balance with what was almost a foot of extra height to handle. "The likelihood of a shared hallucination doesn’t bear thinking about right now. Whatever that thing was they fired on us must have done this. Obviously, the problem now is making us into well…us again." 

"Right, clearly. I don’t know what it was and clearly you don’t either so why don’t we go wake up someone who might." he muttered, no longer looking up at his face and staring down the hallway to the lounge. For all of Simmons’ apparent discomfort at being in his body, being in hers wasn’t a picnic either. She was far shorter than he had ever given consideration to. The pair of them did their best to get to the end of the hall without any major accidents and both steeling themselves for the reactions to follow suit shortly after, they yelled. "FITZ!”


	10. Ghost - part 1 (alessandralee)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:Ward x Simmons, one of them is ghost in home the other just moved into

It was fine at first, moving in had been a cinch. Skye, Darcy, and Jemma made great roommates and they had finally gotten their finances together enough to get a place they could share. They had their friends to move them in, and the realtor had been so kind. The low selling price had been chalked up to the distance away from the bar scene but they didn’t complain. Jemma had found her room almost instantly, it wasn’t the biggest but it was comfortable and something about it just felt like it was supposed to be hers.

The chill in Jemma’s room wasn’t always there, though it was almost always present when she had a long day. A chill in the air was fine, the house was older and draughts were to be expected and the insulation probably wasn’t up to snuff. It wasn’t until she went into her closet to see if there were any holes in the higher corners that she found the pictures in the mouldering shoebox.

A box full of dusty old photographs, and a few medals were hidden away in a box she hadn’t seen until she had gotten a stool. The man in the picture probably wasn’t much older than she was, he was in a service uniform, the date on the back of the pictures saying “Cpt. G. Ward. June, 1943”. He was smiling in the least damaged photograph and it was absolutely arresting. The intensity in his stern expression in some of the other shots had frightened her a little.

When she went to the towns historical society she learned that Captain Ward had lived in her house, and had been killed in France in 1944. The house had belonged to his grandmother, who had passed away in ‘52 the clerk had said, with nobody else in the will, the property fell to the town to take care of and nobody had gone in to clean out the rest of what she had left behind. She didn’t show the pictures to Skye, who would probably make some sort of distasteful joke, but she had told Darcy and Darcy patted her on the shoulder, looking a little sad. Darcy’s boyfriend was stationed overseas and she missed him dearly, Jemma had insisted they move in together so Darcy wouldn’t have to be alone while she waited for Steve to come home again.  
She found herself looking at the different pictures in the quieter moments she had, curious to find just was it was about the man in the photos that had her so taken in. He was handsome, and cut a nice figure certainly, but there was something else she couldn’t find the words to touch on. Her room was still cold, but it wasn’t oppressive, and more than once she felt a calm fall over her as she tried to sleep, like a warm drink or a hug on a bad day.

The sensation of eyes upon her as she stayed up to do homework, read, or organize files for her professor wasn’t something she noticed immediately, it was like a barely noticeable weight and it wasn’t enough to unsettle her. At first she thought it was silly, and she put the box of photographs away, keeping the medals out on her dresser to take up space.

When the slither of the pieces slowly being pushed along the surface of the finished wood woke her from a very fitful sleep, she found that she was only a little surprised to see what might have been a silhouette playing against the light of the moon through her window. It wasn’t solid, yet it was almost tangible but she wasn’t frightened. There wasn’t anything to be frightened of, the same calm that would seep in around the edges of her consciousness while she worked was in play now. Still tired, with the inexplicable air of calm keeping a scream from rising in her throat Jemma sat up, looking intently at the figure by the window.

When he turned, for it was unmistakably male even for it's lack of corporeality, the face in the pictures looked back, smiling, alert, and almost vital. He didn’t move, he only looked at her; the directness of the phantom’s gaze was the only surprising thing about the exchange. The strange shimmering combination of fog and light he appeared to be comprised of was dense enough for Jemma to make out the creases of a military issue officers jacket, the afterimage of the medals on her dresser, and a hat he was holding under his right arm. Sleep still wreathing her brain, Jemma made to call out, possibly to say hello but the shade shook his head, the pleasant smile still on his lips. If he could speak, he wasn't of a mind to just yet and it was probably for the best. When she awoke the next morning, the box of pictures was at the foot of her bed, and one she hadn't seen before was at the top of the pile. 

There the Captain was, the same smile he had given her last night gracing his lips and he had 4 men on either side of him, girls clutching their arms and looking as though they hadn't seen anything more wonderful in their lived. He was without a companion, though it didn't look like he minded. Something in Jemma's chest gave a twinge and she found that maybe she could have been in that photo too, holding his hand and smiling. He was brave, skilled, and clearly a good man, those traits were still very much in fashion and time didn't dull the appeal. All of this totally flew in the face of everything she believed in but the house was old and there were probably mold spores that were making her fall ill and feel strangely.

She couldn't shake the feeling that even with 60+ years separating them, he was who felt right for her. The unfairness of it turned the twinge into an ache, and the ache grew into a sharp pain that stayed with her until the late hours of the night when he returned to her.  
"I figured you'd come back again. The possibility of me being very overtired, and seeing things as a result has crossed my mind so do forgive me if I don't immediately scream. Are you here for anything in particular?" she asked, trying to screw her face up into a glare, knowing that between her small frame, her english accent, and her completely un-intimidating demeanor she was the least threatening person currently in the house. The pain in her chest was fading away, and if it was the fault of the ghost currently staring at her then she'd have something to say about it.

"Well, you are in my room going through my things. I should be asking you that. My bed is gone, and I guess that's your fault too, even if yours looks more comfortable. It's a bit rude of you to go poking around." he said, and incorporeal or not, she wanted to throw something at him for managing to look so irritatingly smug. "I do suppose you know you're dead, yes? You've been lurking about in what's now my room, watching me. Even in the 40's that wasn't excusable behavior so if anyone in here is being rude, it's you." The annoyance she was feeling looking at the apparition had shut out the pain she had felt upon discovering the new picture. Dead or alive, nobody was worth the misery it had brought her.

"English women are still presumptuous then. Yes, I know i'm dead, this is still my house though. The paperwork might not say so but here I am." He said, passing from almost solid to barely visible as he crossed the room. Watching him walk was strange, parts of him would almost completely disappear so only his torso would be visible. He'd been tall in the pictures, and Jemma supposed if she stood up and looked, he'd be tall in death too. "I have to say, you're definitely the prettiest houseguest i've had, also the neatest. My Gramsy would throw a fit if she could see the way people treated her house." 

"Yes, we are. On behalf of the living women residing in her house I apologize, now if you are a hallucination brought on by mold and exhaustion, i'd be very grateful if you went away. I don't have it in me right now to try to deal with ghosts." she said, falling back onto her pillows, trying to focus on what little of his face was visible. He was still quite handsome from what little of the mist-like figure she could see, and she counted herself fortunate that her hallucinations were such agreeable company. He nodded, tipping his hat to her, a grin quirking up at the corner of his mouth. "Goodnight, Jemma. Remember to close your windows, it gets cold in here." He vanished, and Jemma was asleep shortly after, as comfortable and warm as a child in the summer sun. 

Grant stayed as she slept, he always stayed, but he focused his attentions elsewhere when she was changing or if he knew she needed privacy. He had been as drawn to her as she had been to his room, and the box of pictures. The strangest thing about being dead were the lapses in time he experienced, he needed an anchor to make himself visible, and it wasn't always easy to determine just what it was. When Jemma and her roommates moved in, he had woken up for lack of a better term, and even if he had wanted to go elsewhere or try to sleep again, Jemma pulled him back from wherever it was that the dead went. When he was awake, he was lonely even if there were far older and more powerful spirits in the area. He'd been lonely in life too since his little brother had died, and he had joined the service right after graduation hoping to fill the void and do some good. He liked having brothers again but he missed home, and his grandmother, and whenever the USO girls came around, he could never find one he wanted to spend time with. The loneliness was still there, even years later and it transcended death, Jemma seemed to sweep it away and if she was going to stay here, in his house, he'd have to do his best to make himself more real to her because if she was his anchor, he might be as important to her as she was to him.


	11. Less A Nudge, More A Shove  (thatfilmgirl)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ward x Simmons where everyone sees it except them and futz is the one to make them see it

It wasn’t the most professional thing in the world, but professionalism had a very small place in Fitz’ current line of work. It was in everyone’s best interests, but mostly his since he’d just laid down a fair whack of money on a positive outcome. He wasn’t cheating, he was simply increasing favorable odds. Simmons was his best friend and she was the most stubborn, willfully blind, frustrating, and a gold medalist at avoiding things she deemed inconvenient. Getting Simmons to see things his way was going to work and it was going to win him money. 

She and Ward hadn’t really liked each other much initially but it’s funny how jumping out of a plane to save someone changes things. The growing closeness between them hadn’t gone amiss by anybody, especially him. If Fitz ever lost track of Simmons anywhere, he’d be able to find her because Ward would be looking at her. He always looked at her, not just when she was talking but when his eyes had nowhere else to be. It wasn’t lustful, because Fitz wouldn’t have stood for that but like she was something rare and precious. She was amazing and Ward knew it, he trusted her and treated her with the respect she deserved as a scientist, co-worker and person.

What he’d gleaned from Skye was that Ward’s life wasn’t the happiest and that kindness hadn’t been a major feature, which was why he was admittedly a bit prickly. Simmons changed that, she softened him, she made him smile and when they were together he was completely at ease. She challenged him, laughed at him when he took himself too seriously, and worried over him and Fitz got the distinct impression that nobody had really given the man attention in quite the manner she did. Naturally when Fitz pointed this out to her, she simply said she was being friendly, and that since they all lived together, they should try to be friends.

Friends did things like playing board games, not turning board games into 20 minute debates over a single letter tile and the semantics of the english language. Friends leave plastic spiders in bathtubs, they aren’t the ones to put on the proverbial armor and fight off each others fears and demons until there wasn’t any trace. Friends made sure that ambulances weren’t necessary, they didn’t take off out of a plane at 40,000 feet with equipment that could have been faulty solely so that one of them wouldn’t need to die alone. Ward and Simmons weren’t friends, and they were both completely ignorant of the fact.  
Coulson had brought it up after everyone had left them arguing over a game of drunk chess. He had said he left before they started tearing each other’s clothes off, Skye had choked on her beer, nodding and grinning’ May had smirked, following with the statement that Ward would need to be tied down, shocked, and then water-boarded before admitted to anything. Fitz had brought up Simmons’ increasingly volatile reactions to Ward coming into the lab after missions, at the beginning she had no problem cleaning him up, she’d get it taken care of and send him on his way. She now made a point of lecturing and scolding, and if he mouthed off at her, she’d put the latest ruined shirt into the incinerator before he could try getting the blood or dirt out. 

So when Simmons walked back into the lab after helping Ward up to his bunk, Fitz saw his chance. “Hey Jemma, how is it that someone as clever as you are can so completely fail to miss the point on so many occasions?” he asked, finding that directness would provoke a more informative response. “Point to what? If this is about the lab boundaries thing again, I said i’d move the petri dishes to my side once they had time to settle.” she said, pulling off her lab coat and hanging it up on the back of her chair. "No, for once it isn’t about the petri dishes, it’s about you and Ward. You do realize that half the time he’s in here, he’s here for the pleasure of your company and not because he may have nicked an artery. The man adores you, and you’re completely oblivious." Fitz said, relishing the peculiar shade of red she turned as she listened. Jemma blinked, opened her mouth to speak, shut it again as if to take back whatever she hadn’t quite said yet, and opened it again to speak. "Don’t be absurd, we’re friends, and colleagues. No more, no less. If Skye put you up to this i’m going to put food safe bleach in her shampoo."

"Friends and colleagues, my ass. Jem, you’ve spent more time talking to, spending time with, and fretting over him than anyone else since we pulled you both out of the Atlantic." Fitz continued, not deterred by the indignant sputtering that was currently passing for her objection. "You like him about as much as he likes you, and I know he likes you because all he ever does is stare. He stares, and pines, and smiles like an absolute moron around you." 

"Yes, because people make eye contact and smile sometimes. You should try it." Simmons said in a clipped tone, she clearly wasn’t going to have it with a verbal argument. "Fine, if I show you will you at least consider it?" Fitz asked, pressing a few buttons on the holographic rig and pulling up the archive of video footage from the different cameras around the Bus. "This isn’t invasive at all but fine, show me what you seem to think is evidence that Ward is completely in love with me. If it isn’t convincing i’m going to leave." Jemma scoffed, folding her arms and looking intently at the video footage Fitz had isolated and blown up for examination. 

He’d done a good job, he knew. He and Skye had spent hours going over footage of various events, joking that it would be in the wedding video for when the two inevitably got married. She only stopped him when he got to the footage in the lab three days after Coulson had been taken. It was paused in her looking down and Ward looking at her in the way Fitz had privately dubbed “soppy adoring idiot”. Everything about the man’s face, bloodied and exhausted he may have been was the perfect picture of someone totally enraptured with the person they were looking at. "I remember this, we were talking about tracking the buying and selling of parts Van Chat had been doing, and he told me that everything would be okay, that Coulson would be fine. It sounded more like he needed to reassure himself but I was so annoyed with him at the time I didn’t give it much thought. How many more shots do you have of this?" she asked, staring up into the picture, not concentrating on herself but on Ward’s eyes. Normally they were completely unreadable but something in how he was looking at her, and how he was when he was with her made them open, friendly, and something she was struggling to put to words. 

"Of this here? Not much more, but i’ve got plenty of him looking at you like that. I know I didn’t like the idea of the Bus having cameras at first but i’m glad now. Compelling enough argument for you?" Fitz asked, watching his friend. She was biting her lower lip like she always did when she was puzzling something out, and her right hand was gripping her left arm tightly enough to whiten the knuckles. She looked more anxious than anything else, but he’d take it. With her, proof she could see, touch, and scrutinize was the best way to win her over, the visible myriad of emotions she couldn’t quite subdue made Fitz feel like he’d won handily.

"I’m tired, and this is silly. I’m going to bed. Don’t tell anyone you showed me this, i’m not so sure I wanted to see it." She said, almost knocking her chair over in her haste to leave. Simmons had no shortage of admirers at the academy, she was brilliant, beautiful, and compassionate, people gravitated toward her even if she was still a little rough socially. She’d always shrugged it off, putting work of all kinds ahead, only occasionally taking a lover or going out and enjoying herself fully. Perhaps this had been too much, but it was ridiculous that she hadn’t noticed before. 

Half his job done, Fitz powered down the machine, letting the thought of victory, and what would undoubtedly be two very happy friends of his alleviate some of the guilt he felt sharing what felt like a very private moment of the specialist’s, even if the other person in that moment was the one watching. It wasn’t strange to him now seeing people watch Simmons, not when she was so deserving of it. He felt confident that he was doing the right thing, because for Ward at least, this work was dangerous. If something ever happened and whatever it was between them went unresolved, it would be too much for whomever was left standing. 

The next day, it was Ward who came in, he looked annoyed which wasn’t a huge change so Fitz elected to ignore him until the man spoke up. “Is there a reason Simmons is avoiding me?” he asked, looking around anxiously, he’d worked hard to bond with everyone after the initial discord; the fact that he was placing so much value on this bond in particular had Fitz confident that he could get Ward today. “I’m not a mind reader, have you tried asking?” Fitz sniped, hoping that if he annoyed the man enough it might get him to open up.

"Well if she is avoiding me, she wouldn’t answer. Of course I didn’t ask her, i’m not a complete moron." Ward said, fully assured that he’d made the correct decision. Directly confronting any of the women on the Bus when they had resolved to ignore someone was a fast track to scorn, serene annoyance, and on occasion cursing. "That’s up for debate. Maybe she’s annoyed that you haven’t asked her to dinner yet? We’ve had two layovers in the last month, not like you haven’t had the opportunity." Fitz lied matter-of-factly, it was as plausible a fib as any other and it looked like Ward was going to bite. "Why would I do that? That would require her actually being interested, and it would also imply that i’m interested which I am of course not." 

"You are a moron. Complete, boxed, wrapped in christmas paper, and left under the tree with a damn bow on top. Of course she’s interested and everybody on the plane knows you’re completely ridiculous over her." If Ward was going to be dense, honesty might be the right approach. "Really? Because she hasn’t been all that talkative and I wouldn’t say completely ridiculous. Attracted to, yeah. Fond of, maybe more than a little; but ridiculous over, no." He said, and Fitz fought the urge to walk over and hit him with something.

"I’ll have to prove it then, just watch." Fitz said, figuring that for two stubborn people, the same approach might actually be the one to work. He pulled up the footage from the supply closet the night the man who’d been trapped between dimensions had attacked them. Simmons was sitting on the floor cradling the unconscious specialist’s head in her lap, looking deeply concerned, and fast forwarding to her anxiously hovering behind him, offering support as he tried to sit up. He then moved to the time they’d given Ward the Night Night gun and he had oh so rudely told Fitz that they weren’t calling it that, zooming in on Simmons’ face as he walked out, she was very clearly enjoying the view from behind. 

Truthfully it was much a harder sell with Simmons, but Fitz knew her, and Ward hadn’t seen her face last night as she saw how he looked at her when she wasn’t watching. “Okay, it’s harder to see but you haven’t spent years getting to know her ins and outs. Do you have any idea how hard it is to challenge her? To get on her level and stay there? You do that.” Fitz said, trying to convince Ward who was leaning against the counter, looking despondent. "You do this thing where you get into her head and find what is and isn’t working and even I can’t do that. Believe me, she’s never met anyone quite like you and it’s got her rattled. Use it, she’s amazing and frankly she makes you less dreadful company so it’d really do everyone a favor if you two stopped being children." Fitz implored and Ward looked up with a disbelieving expression. "So i’m supposed to go on what may or may not be her staring at my ass, and her doing me a favor by making sure my brain wasn’t going to leak out of my ears after being concussed with a plumbers wrench?"

"Yes, and that it’s me telling you. Unless you want me to call Skye down and have her present the powerpoint and 15 page paper on why you two should have already gotten together." Skye might have been more helpful but then he’d probably have to split the money and the good karma. "Fine. I’ll go talk to her but if she looks at me like i’ve grown an extra head-" Ward began, but Fitz immediately interrupted. "She’d be even more delighted if you grew a second head, but she’d probably want to chop it off in the name of science. Go, make your clichéd declarations. Get of of my lab, you’re messing it up with your serious agent moodiness." Fitz waved his hand in an act of dismissal, and picked up his coffee, indicated that his matchmaking session was at a close.

Looking reasonably content with this, Ward left and about an hour later Skye came flying down the stairs looking like she’d just watched the Red Sea part. “Fitz, what did you do? Tell me that was you. Tell me you did it.” She was practically bouncing in her slippers and her smile was threatening to split her face. “Tell you what was me? I haven’t done anything.” He said, hoping she believed him. She pushed him out of her way and her fingers flew across the keyboard that controlled the holo-projector and pulled up the live feed from the kitchen. 

Ward and Simmons were both standing there looking like awkward teenagers, barely able to make eye contact, and the feed wasn’t hooked into audio so they couldn’t hear what was being discussed. “They’re talking, it’s something they do. Not sure if you’ve noticed.” Fitz said, feeling a little disappointed. Seeing them locked in a romance novel cover style embrace might have been a bit much but even them actually facing each other would be better than this. “Look at how cute they are! I hope she kisses him, but she probably won’t. Oh my gosh, he’s trying to hold her hand!” Skye squealed, pointing excitedly at Ward’s pitiful motions, his hand inching along the counter to take the hand than wasn’t currently hold a coffee cup.

"Am I going to have to do everything myself? He could at least go for it completely." Fitz sighed, rolling his eyes in frustration. Simmons took pity on Ward then, taking his hand in her own and smiling shyly up at him. "I think my teeth are going to fall out. You did this, didn’t you? We owe you money now."  
"I might have presented them with some sound logic and a little reality so yes, I did it and yes you all owe me money. I wasn’t going to throw them out of the plane unless things got desperate." Fitz said, watching Ward let go of her hand and twine his arm around her waist, and seeing Simmons lean into his side looking perfectly comfortable. The money could wait, seeing his best friend look so content was a better prize.  
"Do you think they’ll have sex in the lab? ‘Cause i’m sure he’d be down for that." Skye asked, watching Fitz’ coffee mug fall to the floor with a crash. "I think i’ve made a terrible mistake…"


End file.
